Beatrice Gets a Cold
by Maxwell's Daemon
Summary: One of the SWA operatives gets a cold which threatens to change her in several ways, subtle and otherwise. But is the cure worse than the disease?
1. Part I: Incubation

**Author's Note:**The entire idea for this poor excuse for a story came out of a thread post concerning how much a mechanical body would weigh compared to a normal one. This story, then, is dedicated to TK3997 and his random slightly off-topic thought.

**On Pronounciation:**In the manga, Bernardo's nickname for Beatrice is Bicé (pronounced **_Bee_** **chay** with the stress on the first syllable) and I have preserved that convention.

**Beatrice Gets a Cold**

A Tragedy in Three Parts

**Incubation**

"All ready, Bicé?" Bernardo asked his charge.

She was done up in a blouse and skirt that alternated blue and white. The skirt and the body of the blouse were a navy blue with white sleeves and stockings. Short, brown hair framed an emotionless face. Her green eyes were focused intensely on her handler and everything he said.

"Yes, sir." They were standing down the street a few hundred feet from a ramshackle cottage on the northern outskirts of Naples. It was just past noon and Section Two was ready to execute another 'information-gathering' operation.

Bernardo smiled down at his ward. He had a narrow, angular face that was used to smiling. His short, dark hair was hastily combed, but none the worse for wear. He wore jeans and a longsleeved shirt despite the balmy weather. He handed her a stack of papers. The top page had a childish sketch of a dog and lettering in Beatrice's own hand.

"Draw your gun," he told her as she accepted the papers. Without hesitation she drew the CZ-100 from its holster and held it in her right hand with the stack of papers in her left. He squatted in front of her to look right at her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he did so.

"Alright. I want you to keep the gun hidden behind that stack of leaflets." She shifted the gun behind the paper in her left hand. "Go over to the house there and knock on the door. When someone answers, offer him a paper and tell him you lost your dog. While his hands are distracted, shoot him then run inside and secure Felipé Gobetti. If you believe him to be a threat you can fire in self-defense, but aim to wound. We want Gobetti alive. Understand?"

She had been listening impassively, but the question prompted a, "Yes, sir," from her.

"Oh, and another thing," he said, standing. "If there's no answer, just slide that under the door," he said, indicating the flyer with the words 'Lost Dog' across the top, "and come back here."

She nodded assent. Bernardo checked his watch. _Jean and Rico should be ready any minute, and then we go_. As he waited, he regarded his cyborg again. She was quiet, eyes narrowed, looking at the house that was her target. Staring at it as if looks alone could kill. He shook his head and thought yet again, _Maybe it had been a mistake to join this outfit_.

Bernardo's phone beeped. The text message from Jean was concise: _In position_.

"Alright, Beatrice, you're on. Good luck."

She nodded and walked towards the house. Bernardo ducked behind a bush to avoid being seen and waited, hand on his own pistol. Hopefully he would not have to use it.

Beatrice continued down the street towards the house. It was a beautiful day out and the rural smells brought back half-remembered images of happier times. But she shoved those distractions from her head and focused on her target. Bernardo was counting on her and she couldn't let him down.

Her shoes made little clopping noises on the wooden steps as she ascended. She stood on the porch for a minute, listening to the men inside. She counted two voices and a single set of footsteps. Holding her burdens in a single small hand, she knocked on the door. She had the gun and paper ready by the time the door opened.

A lanky Italian man in jeans and a plain shirt opened the door to say, "What do you want?" He looked unhappy as he glared down at the little girl. The scents of soap, shampoo and breakfast foods clung to him, almost masking the faint stench of gun oil.

"Excuse me, sir, could you help me? I lost my dog," she said, holding out the stack of pamphlets resting atop the gun. He frowned at the cold tone of her voice but took the proffered page, almost by reflex. The page depicted a poorly drawn, furry brown dog with a white spot over its eye. The words 'Lost Dog' were scrawled across the top while 'Answers to Spot' ran across the bottom of the page. His eyes widened as he realized the rest of papers in the stack were blank.

The sound of gunshots tore through the serene rural setting as the papers spilled from her hand in a tumble of white. Beatrice launched herself at the dying man and shoved him out of her way as she pushed into the interior of the building. With a clear view of the men at the back of the room she dropped to one knee and brought the pistol up.

The room itself was small and cozily appointed, with two other doors and a staircase leading to the second floor. Against the far wall, next to a large window with a beautiful view, sat two men on a couch. One was wearing dark dress pants and a matching button-down shirt. The other appeared to be wearing a white tee shirt and was wrapped in blankets.

The dark clad man reached forward to snatch the pistol on the coffee table in front of him. As he did so, the window behind him shattered, and a fountain of red exploded from his throat as the crack of a rifle echoed outside. In mere seconds it was over. Beatrice held her gun steadily as Felipé Gobetti cowered under his blankets.

Footsteps sounded behind her, accompanied by the musky, comforting scent of her handler. She stood up, never letting her gaze — or the muzzle of the pistol — stray from Gobetti.

"Well done, Bicé, very well done," Bernardo said, coming up behind her and patting her on the head. The corners of her mouth twitched, but the smile never came.

"I— I don't believe it!" Gobetti stammered, staring in horror at the emotionless eyes of the cyborg.

"Believe it. It happened. Let's see some hands, Mr. Gobetti, and don't make any sudden movements," Bernardo said, looking around. "Is there anyone else here?"

Gobetti, slowly raising his hands, shook his head. Bernardo crossed the room, careful to keep out of the girl's line of fire, and picked up the gun on the coffee table, a Glock 19C. He wiped the blood off on the dead man's shirt before pocketing it.

"You can put the gun away, Beatrice," he said, opening his phone and dialing. The doll slipped the pistol back into its holster, and stepped around to the side of the couch. If she needed to leap at Gobetti for whatever reason, she didn't want the coffee table in her way. The fact that she had holstered her weapon had done nothing to reduce Gobetti's unease and he continued to stare at her as if she were Death, incarnate.

"Who are you people?" Gobetti asked when Bernardo put his phone away.

"Maybe you should let me ask the questions, okay? Beatrice, get a whiff of that guy, tell me if he's been in contact with our friend, Mr. Tamagno."

The man recoiled as Beatrice stepped closer. She grabbed his shirt with one hand to draw him closer and sniffed. Unable to contain himself, Gobetti sneezed all over her. Taking it for an attack, Beatrice grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm back, one hand on his elbow. She had the leverage to break the elbow, if only Bernardo gave the word. The words Bernardo gave, however, were very different.

"What the hell! That's disgusting!" he exclaimed, a sudden flash of anger marring his normally cheerful demeanor. "Find the bathroom and wash yourself off," he said to the girl.

"Yes, sir," she said, releasing Gobetti. She walked into the kitchen, leaving Gobetti alone with Bernardo.

"I'm sick," Gobetti said, slightly embarrassed and reaching for a tissue.

"You'll be a lot worse if you don't tell us what we want to hear." Cowed, Gobetti said nothing.

Jean entered, dressed in his usual gray suit. He sported black leather gloves and dark glasses today. Rico was right behind him, outfitted in a black shirt and beige pants. She closed the door after her, eyes fixed on Gobetti. Jean nodded towards Bernardo who returned the curt salutation.

"Tell me then, Mr. Gobetti," Jean began, "what did you do with the pictures you received from Mr. Tamagno?"

"They're upstairs. I didn't believe they were real, but 'Vanni said they were and told me they were important. I didn't have anything to do with taking them or anything, honest!"

"No, of course not. Who else has copies?"

"No one! I didn't have time to make copies! I've been sick," he said, snuffling.

"Really? Rico, help Mr. Gobetti remember about the copies."

Without a word, Rico advanced as Gobetti cringed, professing his innocence.

"Jean!" Bernardo said, "The guy's sick, he might be contagious. He sneezed all over Bicé."

"Rico." The single word stopped her in her tracks. He looked around the room until his gaze stopped on an aluminum baseball bat sitting in a corner next to a catcher's glove. "Use that," he said, gesturing to the bat. "And don't get too close."

Beatrice appeared from the kitchen, hair and blouse still damp. "Mr. Bernardo, sir? I'm fairly certain Mr. Gobetti met with Mr. Tamagno. The cologne smelled the same."

Bernardo turned his attention from his cyborg to Jean. "Do you need us for anything else, here, Jean?"

"I don't think so," the blonde man said as Gobetti coughed in the background. "Call Ferro. We'll leave as soon as I get some info out of this guy," he said, jerking a thumb at Gobetti

"Right." Bernardo gestured to Beatrice to follow him. The metallic _PING_ of aluminum on bone echoed behind them as he opened the door. Gobetti screamed.

"Tell me again who has copies of the pictures of Senator Dini," Jean said calmly as Gobetti whimpered and clutched his shin.

Outside, Bernardo sat on the porch and called Ferro. When he was done, he looked over at his _sorella_. She stood by his side, alert for danger.

"You did really well today," he said to her. "You should be happy."

"Yes, sir. I will be happy."

He chuckled. "That's not what I meant. I meant that you should be proud of yourself and, y'know, let some of your happiness show."

She turned and beamed an incredibly fake smile at him. The irony of it made him laugh, despite the screaming coming from inside the house. When he looked back at her she still had the faux smile plastered across her face. "Cut that out," he said with a grin. Her face reverted to the normal apathetic look he had come to associate with his partner.

"I will stop being happy, sir."

"No, I want you to be happy," he began, "just... not like that," he finished with a sigh. He wasn't sure what it was. Most of the other girls were full of personality, for better or worse. His Beatrice always seemed so literal and emotionless all the time, in stark contrast to her handler. Someone had even gone so far as to comment that she was a lot like Elsa in that respect, though the comment hadn't been meant for his ears.

When he had first come to the Agency, José had told him that most of the girls were pretty bland their first few weeks after the 'procedure.' He had been certain she would change if just given some time. Thoughts of José made him reminisce...

**------------------------------------------------**

The question hung heavy in the air between them. José repeated it, slowly, pondering it while studying his glass of wine.

"Do I like my job?"

Bernardo leaned back in his chair while the other man thought. He occupied his own thoughts with images of the gorgeous Italian woman a few tables over from them. He had almost gone over to introduce himself, full of alcohol-induced confidence and swagger. But then her husband or boyfriend had shown up and he contented himself with just looking.

"Tough question, don't you think?" José asked. "I mean, how am I supposed to answer it?"

Bernardo smiled. "Truthfully, I hope."

Bernardo had asked José out for drinks for several reasons, not the least of which was to figure out what the guy was like. Both of them had been relatively free that night and José was reputed to have a good relationship with his cyborg. Maybe he would have some useful tips for the new agent. That and it had been too long since Bernardo had been out for a drink.

Glass after glass had gone down and Bernardo was shuffling lazily from pleasantly buzzed to nice and drunk. He had been nursing his drink for the last twenty minutes. José had practically matched him, drink for drink, but not in any sort of competitive manner. The guy was easy to like and fun to talk to and Bernardo was drunk enough to start asking the serious questions — and drunk enough not to care if the senior agent took offense to the asking.

"Look José, I'm not asking for any severe navel-gazing. I was just making small talk, man. You don't need to—"

"I don't," he said, looking from the glass to his colleague.

"Huh?"

"I don't... like my job." He paused a minute, then drained the glass and poured another.

"Gee... maybe I shouldn't have signed up for this, huh?"

"The job's alright, the pay is great, but it's hard not to get involved too much."

He had asked in the hopes of getting some insight into the sort of person José really was. He sensed no artifice and was pretty certain that José was about as drunk as he was. But then again, Bernardo wasn't exactly a good judge of character when drunk. The only thing for it now, however, was to see where this would take him... and have another drink.

"Whaddaya mean?"

"The girls. They're cute and so eager to please..." For a minute Bernardo thought José was going to say something he'd rather not hear, but he continued, "...it's hard not to like them, but it's hard to work with someone when you know she's only got a few years to live, if that." He shook his head. "It reminds me of something Marco said to Henrietta, once."

"What?"

"I probably couldn't remember it exactly if I tried. Something about if she was afraid to die."

"And. What did she say?"

José took a gulp of wine and sighed. "She said she wasn't afraid to die. But that doesn't mean I'm not afraid to lose her. All the handlers get attached to their girls. As I said, it's hard not to."

"All of them? Even your brother?"

"Jean? Yeah, even him." Seeing Bernardo's look of disbelief, he added, "I've known the guy all my life. I know how he thinks."

"No offense, José, but why does Jean treat Rico like shit then?"

José paused before speaking. Bernardo had been trying to keep the mood light, but their conversation had taken a somber tone just the same.

"He pretends. He figures that if he pretends he doesn't care about her... well, that maybe that will make it true."

There was a long silence as each man was occupied with his own thoughts. José was the first to break it.

"That's probably the best advice I can give you about Beatrice. Try not to get attached. And be prepared to lose her. Neither of those are easy."

**------------------------------------------------**

Despite any coercion from Jean and Rico, Gobetti adamantly refused to acknowledge that anyone had gotten copies of the photos he'd received. This had proven to be a problem since Jean wasn't sure that any copies had been made in the first place. Even so, photos had been leaked to various news agencies and were all over anti-government websites.

With the business in Naples taken care of, Bernardo and Beatrice were given free rein but were to remain on-call. In characteristic fashion, Bernardo asked his girl if she had any desire to go anywhere or do anything with their spare time. She didn't. She never did.

"I'll go where you want me to go, Bernardo." It was a stock line for her. She never seemed to have any desires that were hers. Like she didn't care where she was going or what she was doing unless he told her where to go or what to do. At least she had stopped calling him 'Mr.' Bernardo.

"How about ice cream?" Bernardo had been wandering aimlessly, Beatrice in tow, through a commercial district thronged with equal parts tourists and natives.

His charge merely looked at him, and said, "Could you rephrase the question, sir?"

He wasn't in the mood to sigh again, so he merely rephrased it, "We're going to get some ice cream. Milkshakes, I think. And it wasn't a question."

"Yes, sir."

After a bit of navigation, Bernardo steered them towards a small café. Once inside he ordered a large chocolate milkshake for himself.

"What flavor do you want?" he asked her while the woman at the counter waited expectantly.

Beatrice was uncharacteristically silent in the face of a direct question. Taking her silence for indecision, Bernardo ordered a small chocolate for her.

"Vanilla, please, sir," she said, somewhat bashfully.

"Such a well-mannered child," the cashier said, after Bernardo revised the order. "Your daughter?"

Bernardo smiled. "My niece. And, yes, she is very polite."

The lady at the counter smiled longingly. "I wish my niece was as nice as yours. My brother's children are all brats."

She thanked him for his business as she handed over the milkshakes and accepted his money. Bernardo walked outside and found a little table where he could sit and enjoy the fine afternoon with his sweet treat.

"I wouldn't have guessed you for a vanilla girl." Beatrice continued to sip her dessert in silence. The milkshakes were a bit uneven, having one or two large lumps of ice cream in them. Bernardo pulled the top off of his cup, seeing how inefficient the straw was. Beatrice did the same.

"We've got an hour or two before we need to rendezvous with Jean and Rico, you sure there's nothing you want to do in Naples? How about shopping? I thought all girls liked shopping."

She looked up from the abandoned newspaper she had been reading and answered, "No, sir," in her flat voice. Her eyes flicked again to the portion of the paper advertising a nearby zoological garden, but Bernardo had busied himself with his drink.

He tried again at small talk. "How's the school coming?" It was a redundant question. He knew exactly how well his ward performed compared to the other girls in the 'academic' assignments that the agency deemed important.

"I am performing adequately, sir."

That's what he had thought she would say. "Sometimes I wish you were a bit more like a normal girl, Beatrice," he said, wistfully. "But don't try too hard to be. I'm sure you would if I ordered you to." She didn't say anything. He let the matter drop. Maybe it was like José had said. It was easier not to become attached so long as she _wasn't_ a normal, cute, little girl.

His milkshake was down near the end and hers was too, judging by the way she tilted the cup back far enough to get the last bits out. He paused, watching her a minute.

There must have been a glob of ice cream stuck to the bottom of her cup. She tilted the cup far back to empty the remaining contents into her mouth, but — as nothing came — she closed her mouth and squinted at the bottom of the cup through one eye, a girlish frown on her face. She put her mouth to the cup again and tried shaking. Bernardo couldn't resist. He gave the outside of the cup a tap on the bottom to free up the sweet creaminess stuck to the inside. All at once it let go and half slid, half fell down to the opening, landing on Beatrice's mouth and nose. She tilted the cup back down, letting the ice cream fall back to the bottom at the sound of his laughter.

When she looked up from her cup, her mouth and nose were painted white. Bernardo laughed even harder at that as he handed her a napkin.

"That's okay. I'm plenty immature for both of us," he said with a smile. She finished the last bit of her treat in silence and without further incident. _At least I thought it was funny_, he thought as he finished the last of his own milkshake.

The last bit of chocolate-flavored goodness took its time, slowly oozing down the side of the cup. He waited, patiently. _Good things were worth waiting for_, he reasoned. The scrape of her chair caught his attention. Normally Beatrice would wait until he had gotten up before rising. If she had sensed some danger...

The styrofoam of the cup echoed with a hollow _TAP_, and suddenly his mouth and nose were covered in melted chocolate. He worked the glob of ice cream into his mouth to finish it before setting the cup down and meeting the eyes of the culprit. The slightest hint of a grin lingered at the corners of her mouth as she stood there, trying to remain impassive. He grinned at her and, once his mouth was free of ice cream, laughed aloud at the antic.

Beatrice brought her hand up to her mouth but a bit of girly giggle escaped, just the same. "Fair enough," Bernardo said, wiping the chocolate stickiness off. Inwardly he was relieved that he'd managed to provoke some sort of reaction. She really was a little girl, after all.

His phone beeped to indicate an incoming text message. He crushed the styrofoam in one hand as he read the message in the other.

"Time to leave. We're meeting Jean and heading back to Rome. Ready to go?" She nodded, green eyes still smiling.

As he tossed the cup in the trash and slid his phone back into his pocket a little sneeze echoed behind him. He turned around to look at the girl who sniffled and wiped her nose.

"Beatrice? Are you getting a cold?"

**Next:** _Weakness of Flesh_


	2. Part II: Affliction

**Shameless Plugs:**Renata and Donatello star in _Salvezza_ and they come to me from roastpuff. You should read that when you're done with this, then jam his inbox full of messages pleading for an update to that story. Renaldo, Aurelio and Enzo were all hijacked from _Life, Liberty, And,_ courtesy of Sintendo. Orazio and Guinevere are the stars of _Rebirth of a Queen_, penned by LoC978. Check those out after you're done writing my praises, if you haven't already.

**Affliction**

The rifle bucked and bucked again, spitting ordnance at the targets spaced out along the hill. Bernardo smiled as Beatrice put a burst in a target's paper head. She was getting better, but still nowhere near as good as the girl who stood ten paces away. Each burst from Rico's Beretta ripped holes in the head or chest of a paper target. The farther targets gave her trouble, though. The last few rounds in her magazine missed twice as often as they landed. Beatrice hadn't even attempted shots at such range, knowing her aim was still relatively poor.

Even so, Bernardo ruffled her hair and smiled at his cyborg. "Nice shooting."

The staccato report from Rico's rifle ended as the last rounds found their way into the hillside of the outdoor range. Jean's sigh was audible, even to Bernardo. "Terrible, Rico. Keep practicing. You'll get better." Rico's head drooped at the harsh words, but she obediently slapped another magazine into the weapon and readied it. Jean's phone rang.

"Jean," he answered. "Yes. Alright," he said, switching the phone to his left hand. Rico, Bernardo and Beatrice looked on, curious. Noticing his errant cyborg, Jean frowned at her and pointed to the targets. Without a word, Rico took aim with the rifle. Jean wandered off, holding a hand to his other ear in an attempt to block out the sound of gunfire behind him. Cyborg and handler watched him leave while Rico worked on her target practice.

A frown wrinkled Beatrice's cute features. "Why is he so mean to you, Rico?"

The blonde girl didn't answer at first. Beatrice sneezed and wiped her nose. Bernardo wondered again if he should take her to see a doctor immediately instead of waiting for her weekly checkup on Wednesday.

The sound of gunfire stopped. Rico set the gun down on a nearby table and began loading rounds into both empty magazines, chatting casually as she did so, "He's not mean to me at all. Jean just wants to make sure I practice a lot so I can be good at what I do. Sometimes he gets mad if I don't live up to his expectations, but he has high expectations. I just need to practice more and try harder." She finished the last bit with a sincere smile, slapping home a full mag.

Bernardo and Beatrice exchanged a look, then she reloaded her weapon and began shooting again. The two cyborgs shot in silence, interspersed by bursts of gunfire. Bernardo watched his charge practice, but his mind was elsewhere. For as much as he disliked Jean's methods, Rico was a crack shot, excellent in unarmed combat and utterly ruthless if told to be so. She was also cheerful, childish and absolutely adored her handler despite his rough ways.

Beatrice, on the other hand... well, Beatrice had... a cold. He stole a glance at her short brown locks and her cute little face, scrunched up in concentration. She had been missing practice recently, more than he would have liked. Maybe he should institute a training regimen that was more strict, but she was just now starting to open up, to show some hints of real personality. Secretly he quite enjoyed that bit. Bernardo had always been good with children and his sister's children thought it was great when Uncle Bernie came to watch them. Now that Beatrice was starting to act more like a little girl and less like a ruthless killing machine he wasn't sure he wanted to let her go back.

He just didn't know what to do.

**------------------------------------------------**

Bernardo had Beatrice pack in the target practice right around the time Jean told Rico to finish up and run a few laps. He really didn't let up on that girl. Jean wanted to discuss some things with him, so Bernardo had told his little cyborg he would find her when he was done. She had some time to kill, and as she walked back to her room to drop off her rifle, the soft strains of violin music drifted through the campus. Beatrice had no musical talent and usually ignored Henrietta's playing, but she paused to listen. It sounded... nice. On impulse she headed towards her room to drop off the gun, sneezing along the way. Unburdened, she hurried back to listen to Henrietta play in the large ballroom. The door was open when she got there and Beatrice timidly peeked around the corner before entering.

Henrietta was alone, dwarfed by the huge size of the room. She was a small girl of no more than ten or twelve years, wearing a simple white blouse and black skirt today. Her short brown hair was cut in a style quite like Beatrice's and her eyes were closed as she intently played. She drew the bow across the strings the way one might caress a lover, with equal parts tenderness and passion. The sounds of her instrument reverberated off the hardwood floors and plaster walls, filling the room with soft, stringed harmonies.

Beatrice walked into the room, unnoticed. She let herself be carried away by the music, as if she were floating on a fluffy cloud of symphonious pleasure, oblivious to life's cares. Except some part of that cloud must've gone up her nose because she sneezed. The sudden interruption was enough to bring the violin away from Henrietta's chin as a look of surprise covered her face.

Beatrice's hands had gone to cover her mouth and nose, but the sneeze had been loud just the same. "I'm sorry!" she squeaked into cupped hands. Her eyes shone with embarrassment.

"That's alright, Beatrice. Do you like my playing?" Beatrice, hands still over her mouth, nodded. "Then I'll play some more," Henrietta said with a smile.

As the air filled with music once again, Beatrice wiped her nose, doing her best to make no noise. She stood there engrossed, handkerchief in hand, until the next sneeze overtook her. Henrietta paid her no mind and finished her song. Letting her hands drop to her sides, she took a little bow as Beatrice clapped her hands with glee.

"You're _so_ good! Did you learn how to play for Mireille?"

"Yes," she said, setting the instrument back into its case. "He wanted me to learn to play because it would help me grow accustomed to my prosthetics. It did, but now I play because I like to."

"Wow." Beatrice's admiration was plain. "I don't know how to do anything like that."

"If I could find the time I could teach you. I'm supposed to teach Angelica how to play, too. I could start a class!"

"That would be great! I'd love to learn to... to..." She could feel the sneeze coming this time, and readied her hanky. Henrietta was facing away, latching the case. She looked over quizzically as the other girl's sentence trailed off.

"_ACHOO_!" Following the sneeze Beatrice snuffled a bit.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm getting sick, I think."

"Oh." Henrietta clearly didn't know what to say to that, though she finally settled on, "Have you seen Dr. Bianchi?"

"I didn't want to trouble him, and my check-up is in two days."

"Oh." The other girl smiled sweetly and said, "I'm going to meet some of the other girls for tea. Would you like to come?"

"I would love to!" Beatrice said, stifling another sneeze.

**------------------------------------------------**

Having stopped by her room again to fetch a clean hanky, Beatrice stood in front of the door to the room shared by Triela and Claes. She hesitated a minute, then knocked softly. Claes's voice came from the other side of the door, "Come in!"

Beatrice opened the door and looked in. Henrietta was seated at a small table in the middle of the room which held a full tea set and places for four. Claes herself lounged on the top bunk of the bunk bed on the left side of the room, a small book open in front of her. Otherwise, the room was furnished with a bookcase and dressers, themselves decorated with books, pictures and a collection of stuffed bears. The smells of fresh, cupcakes and steeping tea did their best to assail her nose, but she was far too stuffy to take notice.

Claes greeted her, then went back to reading. Henrietta smiled warmly and bade her take a seat. Beatrice walked in, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

Henrietta herself was seated such that Claes was in front of her and the door was to her left side. Beatrice took the seat that faced the door, placing the handkerchief on her lap, ready for quick use.

"Would you like some tea?" Henrietta asked, hand on the teapot.

"Yes, please." Henrietta smiled cheerfully, then poured tea into the cup in front of Beatrice.

"Thank you, Henrietta."

"My pleasure."

"You know," Henrietta began, "you've been here for a while but we haven't really gotten the chance to talk much."

"No." Beatrice didn't really know what else to say. A few days ago, her colleagues, the other girls, hadn't mattered enough to her for her to care about chatting or drinking tea with them. Something had changed. She didn't know what, and she didn't know how best to say it so she merely sat in silence.

"Were you expecting more people?" she asked, finally, looking at the vacant chairs.

"I always set four places, just in case. I always invite Rico, but she never seems to have the time."

Beatrice nodded. "Jean told her to run laps after target practice." Henrietta sighed.

A knock sounded at the door. Claes bade the visitor enter and the tall girl did. She was just an inch or two taller than Claes, of a height with Triela. Her red hair was hastily done up in a bun. She wore a dark blue jacket over a black blouse. Her skirt matched her jacket while her socks matched her blouse. Black shoes covered her feet while a shy smile covered her face.

"Renata! Glad you could make it! Please, have a seat," Henrietta said, gesturing to the vacant seat with its back to the door. The other girls offered greetings in turn.

Henrietta offered tea to the new girl who took it politely. Beatrice blew on her tea to cool it, then took a sip.

"Oh! Don't forget the sugar," Henrietta said, playing the perfect hostess.

"No, thank you. I'm fine," Beatrice replied, then sipped again. The tea was quite good and it felt good on her throat.

"Would you care for some sugar?" Henrietta asked Renata.

"Yes, please." Henrietta moved the sugar bowl between Renata and herself.

"Henrietta needs something to sweeten hers," Claes chided from the bunk.

"It's kinda bitter, otherwise," Henrietta agreed, spooning some sugar into her cup and stirring.

"Sugar makes it better, but honey is even tastier. I'm sure if I ask Donatello for some honey he would get some for us," the red-haired girl said, then added two spoons of sugar to her own cup.

"That's alright. The taste doesn't bother me," Beatrice said, holding the cup and feeling its warmth.

"What did Triela call you?" Claes asked of Henrietta. "Sweety?" Henrietta smiled sweetly at the memory.

"Oh! Where is Triela?" Beatrice asked. She had wondered before and Claes's question brought it back to the forefront of her mind.

"Yes, isn't this her room?" Renata asked, her gaze travelling the length of the collection of bears.

"Hers and mine," Claes responded. "And she's off on an assignment with Hilshire. We're not sure when they'll be back."

"Does Triela get along with Hilshire?" Renata asked, setting her teacup on the table.

"They do seem to argue a lot," Beatrice agreed, still holding her tea.

Henrietta and Claes exchanged a knowing look, then giggled. Renata and Beatrice, on the other hand, exchanged a look of confusion, obviously not privy to what had caused the other girls' mirth.

"Triela is just as devoted to Hilshire as any of us are to our handlers," Henrietta said, as she stared off into space, the corners of her mouth pulled up in a dreamy smile.

Renata pondered that and sipped her tea. Beatrice said, "You think so, Claes?" She figured Claes would know since, of all of them, she probably saw the most of Triela.

"Triela is every bit as devoted to Hilshire as any of you are to your handlers," she said. Focusing on the words, Beatrice missed the bitterness that had crept into the older girl's voice. Renata sent a sympathetic look her way and opened her mouth to speak, but Henrietta cut her off with a tactful change of subject.

"Do you really think you're getting sick, Beatrice?"

"Beatrice is sick?" Renata asked, turning her sympathetic eyes toward the girl across the table from her. Even Claes hazarded a glance.

"I don't know. I've been sneezing a lot recently. I'll see Dr. Bianchi on Wednesday, though, and he'll know what to do." Beatrice felt slightly self-conscious with so many pairs of eyes on her.

"Dr. Bianchi is out of the country right now," Claes said, shifting to look down at the assemblage of girls more comfortably. "He's attending some conference in America and won't be back until the weekend."

"Oh!" The same sentiment echoed from three mouths, almost at once.

"I certainly hope it's nothing serious, then," Renata said, her voice tinged with concern.

Beatrice shook her head. "I'm fine."

"This is your first time coming for tea?" Renata asked, looking at Beatrice over her teacup.

"Yeah, what brought you here?" Claes inquired, genuinely curious.

"She was listening to me play so I invited her," Henrietta answered, practically beaming. She was proud of her skill with the violin and appreciated an audience.

"You are quite good, you know." The taller girl smiled at her.

"Yes, very," Beatrice agreed. "I just never really noticed until just today..." her voice trailed off as she thought. Actually, it had been a few days ago, after the incident with Gobetti. Everything had seemed so much more... vivid since that day. And she found that she really _did_ care about the other girls if she took the time to think about it. She really resented Jean's treatment of Rico and the disregard — almost contempt — that Marco showed to Angelica. She felt sorry for Claes for having no one. Of course Claes had the other girls, but, thinking of how she cherished her own handler, it just wasn't the same. She really enjoyed Henrietta's music and Priscilla's cooing and a hundred other things she had totally ignored before today.

"Beatrice?" Renata said. "Your nose is running."

She must have started to daydream or something. She wiped her nose with the handkerchief on her lap, but when she opened her mouth to speak, the only thing that came out were dry coughs. She managed to wrench her head around and cough into the hanky. It came all at once, a spasm of hacking that left her breathless and brought tears to her eyes.

The other girls looked on, their concern palpable in the small room, but no one knew what to say. The silence was punctuated only by Beatrice's wheezing breaths.

A knock echoed from the door, bringing everyone back to reality. Belatedly, Claes said, "Come in," just as the door opened to show a concerned Bernardo.

"Girls," he said, addressing them as a group. Then, "Bicé, are you alright?"

She nodded but couldn't find the breath to speak. She slid off her chair and walked over to him. He squatted down next to her and placed a hand on her forehead. His eyes widened in concern.

"Beatrice! You're burning up!"

Bernardo was suddenly very concerned for the welfare of his little partner. She felt like she had a fever and looked like she wanted to collapse. The other girls looked on but said nothing.

"Claes, can you go find Dr. Bianchi and tell him Bicé needs to see him right now?"

"Dr. Bianchi's not here, sir," she said, sitting up on the bed.

"Bicé's sick, she needs a doctor!" Bernardo's desperation was plain.

"Yes, sir," she said, dropping onto the floor. Claes ran out the door, stocking-clad feet sliding on hardwood.

Beatrice wavered, then pitched forward. He caught her before she fell. Realizing what had happened, she looked at her handler and smiled. _This won't do at all_, Bernardo thought. _I'll have to carry her_.

Without further ado, he took the little girl in his arms and lifted her off her feet, spun on his heel and jogged out the door. Renata and Henrietta exchanged a glance, then bolted out the door after him, tea all but forgotten.

The infirmary was across the campus, a sizable walk under normal conditions, but Bernardo wanted to get Beatrice there as soon as possible. He jogged out into the receding light of an increasingly cloudy day. Claes was well ahead of him and he could hear Renata and Henrietta shouting for their handlers. At this rate the entire agency would know how careless he had been with his cyborg, but there was nothing for it, now. Jean would certainly come down on him for his neglect, but Beatrice's health was foremost on his mind. It had deteriorated much more rapidly than he would have thought possible.

Beatrice snuggled into his embrace and closed her eyes. He broke into a run. While he was in good shape, running while carrying a cyborg was taxing and in short order his arms ached and his breath came in ragged gasps. And he was barely halfway there. He ran until his muscles burned and his veins pumped battery acid. Then he ran some more.

The shouts that had gone up had attracted some of the other cyborgs and handlers. Renaldo paced him, asking questions, but Bernardo had no breath to waste on answers. Mireille and Henrietta were behind him and Rico ran to intercept him as his legs did their best to carry him to his destination.

Up a flight of stairs, the door to the infirmary loomed in front of him. Claes, worry creasing her features, was standing by the door. She opened it for him. Through it were more stairs. He climbed another flight, trying to ignore the pain in his thighs. He turned the corner and made his way through a hallway filled with concerned agents, sympathetic cyborgs and curious doctors. Bernardo jogged to the nearest room and set Beatrice gently down on the clean, white sheets of the nearest bed, then collapsed into a nearby chair, his arms uncramping.

Voices sounded in the doorway and from the hall outside:

"Is she gonna be alright?"

"We were just having tea, and..."

"That man really was sick..."

"Maybe she's got AIDS or the Plague!"

"Shut up, 'Naldo!"

"She'll get better, won't she, Miss Mirielle?"

"Out of the way! Move! Let us through!"

The doctors made their way in and made preparations to move Beatrice. Bernardo spotted Dr. Gilliani directing and giving orders. _Even if Dr. Bianchi wasn't here_, Bernardo reasoned, _his staff was competent_.

"Mr. Bernardo?" Beatrice's voice sounded so tiny. He looked over at her. Her face looked rather flushed and tears were welling up in the corners of her eyes. "I didn't get you in trouble, did I?"

"No, not at all. It'll be fine, Bicé. Everything'll be fine." His arms hung limply at his sides, feeling just starting to return to them. His breathing was mostly back to normal but his heart was still pumping fast.

She said nothing as the doctors wheeled her out and down the hall. Jean stood in the doorway, his face betraying no emotion. "We have to talk," he said.

Bernardo pushed himself to his feet, noting the protests from his legs. He walked out into the hall. The crowd was milling about, several conversations going at once. Rico was watching Beatrice get wheeled away, a concerned frown on her face. Henrietta was explaining what had happened to her handler while Renata added some details of her own for the edification her handler, Donatello. Marco looked on from down the hall, arms crossed. His girl was nowhere to be seen.

"'Naldo, what are you doing!?" Aurelio demanded of his ward. The cyborg in question was short and stocky, with a mess of blonde hair hidden under a ragged, blue cap. In stark contrast to the decor of the girls, he wore shorts and a tank top with a pair of flip flops. He looked up, thumb frozen over the keypad of his cell phone.

"Calling Enzo..."

"Don't do that! He's on an op. He could be trying to sneak up on terrorists when his phone rings!"

The boy looked down at his phone, then back to his handler. Down the hall, Jean put his own phone to his ear and said, "Hilshire? It's Jean. Look... there's been a problem..."

"Then why does Jean get to call Hilshire!?" the boy demanded, looking back at Aurelio.

"Because he's Jean. If you were Jean you could call Hilshire, too."

"What? What's that supposed to mean!? I'm not Jean!"

"Consider yourself lucky. C'mon." Aurelio took the boy by the arm and the pair continued to argue as they descended the stairs.

As they left, a tiny girl came around the corner, looking confused. She was pale and freckled, short and skinny and her loose, copper tresses reached just down to her shoulders. Her garb was simple: black pants and a dark purple shirt. She stood staring for a minute before a voice behind her called out, "Slow down, Gwen, I'm not as fast as you!"

Gwen ran back down the stairs and tried to help her handler climb, offering words of dubious encouragement: "C'mon Orazio!" The man panted and huffed his way up the stairs. He reached the top and turned the corner, the little girl on one hand, a cane in the other. He was stocky, with brown hair back in a ponytail and he leaned heavily on his cane as he tried to catch his breath.

"What did I miss?" he asked.

Claes walked towards the pair and guided them back down the stairs, offering to explain. Orazio sighed as he climbed back down the stairs again, listening intently to what Claes had to say.

Jean finished his phone conversation and the other remnants of Section Two abruptly found somewhere else to be.

"We need to talk, Bernardo."

**Next:** _Strength of Steel_


	3. Part III: Remedy

**Remedy**

Bernardo sat across from Dr. Gilliani in a conference room in the same building as the infirmary. Gilliani shifted uncomfortably under Jean's withering gaze, but Bernardo seemed all but oblivious. Jean continued to glare at the junior handler as Gilliani spoke.

"But that's the problem, Jean. It appears to be a normal staph infection, but the bacteria exhibits some strange qualities. Dr. Barzagli has cultured some and has plans to send samples to the World Health Organization, amongst others. The quick incubation period may owe to the bacteria itself, the strange physiology of the cyborgs, or a combination of the two."

"Will she recover?" Bernardo asked.

The doctor hesitated, prompting Bernardo to ask again. "You have to understand, Bernardo... the mechanical bodies aren't like you or I. They don't have fully developed immune systems..."

"But you can repair the damage, can't you, Doctor?" Jean's voice was level.

"Right now I'm waiting for a call from Dr. Bianchi. He's agreed to return as soon as he can. He should be here within a few days..."

Bernardo sensed subterfuge. There was something Gilliani wasn't saying. Jean must have noticed as well because he spoke first, "Why? Do you think Beatrice's condition is bad enough to warrant Dr. Bianchi's early return?"

"Jean, I'm not really a medical doctor by trade... my specialty is artificial limbs and prosthe—"

"What aren't you telling us?" Bernardo growled. He had expected that things would mostly have been taken care of once he'd gotten medical care for Bicé, but Gilliani's unease was contagious.

"She's got pneumonia. It wouldn't normally be fatal for a girl her age, but — as I said — the cyborgs don't really have a normal immune system. The antibiotics might not act fast enough and if the infection gets to her bloodstream she could go into septic shock. We don't really have any experience with how the artificial organs deal with something like this. They may be surprisingly resilient... or they may start to shut down..."

Jean sighed heavily. "You're saying we could lose an operative to a cold?"

Gilliani spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Pneumonia is a leading cause of death among those with deficient immune systems. It's why we screen all the girls weekly. Obviously we need stricter controls and more vigilance from the handlers. And the girls, themselves."

"What can Dr. Bianchi do that you can't?" Bernardo asked. Obviously Gilliani thought there was something to be gained by cancelling Bianchi's trip, otherwise he wouldn't have suggested it.

"Well... Dr. Bianchi heads this project. I wouldn't want to authorize anything without his app—"

"Like what?" Jean snapped, his patience at an end. Bernardo had figured it out, too. Gilliani knew what to do, but he didn't want to take responsibility.

Gilliani folded his hands in his lap and said, "If we replace her lungs and thoroughly eradicate any trace of the bacteria she should be fully operational in a few days."

Bernardo didn't know enough about the innards of the girls, but replacing her lungs sounded drastic. Jean must have had similar questions, because he asked, "What would you replace her lungs with?"

"Beatrice's lungs are original equipment, so to speak. The artificial lungs we've developed — which are quite impressive, if I do say so myself — should work properly in her. We haven't replaced any of the internal organs in any of the stage one cyborgs except when necessary."

Jean interrupted again, "The new lungs are more resistant to disease?"

"Uh... not really, but to be sure she would survive the pneumonia we'd need to drain her lungs directly. It's something we really hadn't covered when we designed the mechanical bodies. If we open her up to drain her lungs we may as well replace them."

"Do it."

"What complications could there be?" Bernardo spoke almost at the same time as Jean. They looked at each other, then back at Gilliani.

Gilliani looked from one to the other, then answered Bernardo, "As with any invasive surgery, there is the slight chance that something could go wrong, but we are professionals, with access to some of the best facilities money can buy. It should be perfectly safe."

"What other options do we have?" Jean asked. He had seemed prepared to authorize surgery, but Bernardo's question gave him pause.

"Well... her lungs have to come out. If the infection enters her bloodstream her chance of survival is slim. We could put her on a ventilator and wait for Dr. Bianchi to get back. He may have a better idea of what to do."

"Then there's no good reason not to operate as soon as possible?" Jean's gaze was level.

Gilliani returned it, unflinchingly, "No, sir, it just wasn't the sort of decision I felt I should make without consulting you."

Jean nodded. "How long until you're ready to operate?"

"Three hours."

"Good. Do it." With those words, Jean left. Gilliani made a curt farewell and went to prepare his team for surgery. Bernardo was left alone with nothing but his sense of foreboding.

**------------------------------------------------**

As she lay in bed, Beatrice tried not to think of anything in particular. Instead, she focused her thoughts on her own labored breathing. She opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Priscilla and Angelica were at the door, peering at her with worried looks on their faces. Angelica stepped in and walked right up to her bed, despite the words of warning from the woman behind her.

"Hi, Beatrice," the raven-haired girl said, smiling.

"Hi, Angelica. You shouldn't get so close. I'm contagious."

"That's alright. I always liked when people came to visit me in the hospital, so I came to visit you. How are you feeling?"

"Sick," Beatrice managed, sniffling. The other girl looked at her sympathetically.

"Don't worry. The doctors will make you better. It's what they do," Angelica said with a smile. Beatrice nodded, not wanting to voice her worry with Priscilla listening.

The cyborgs said nothing for a few moments. The silence was broken by the arrival of Bernardo who also chastised Angelica, though she paid him no mind. Priscilla and Bernardo began to talk, just outside the doorway. If Beatrice were well she could've made out the words, but her hearing was suffering as much as her other faculties.

Alone with Angelica for a minute, she leaned forward and asked, "Angelica? Do you... do you ever think about dying?"

If the other girl was in any way uncomfortable with the question, she didn't show it. Instead she nodded and said, "Oh, yes. All the time."

"Oh. Does it scare you?" No sooner had she gotten the words out than she sneezed into her pillow. The first was only the precursor to a second, more powerful sneeze.

Oblivious to the discomfort of the other girl, Angelica's gaze wandered as she thought. "No. Being alone scares me. When I die..." her voice trailed off as she thought of the right words. "As long as Marco is with me I wouldn't mind," she finished, strangely cheerful despite the talk of mortality. "And Bernardo is here," she said, looking back over her shoulder at the two adults talking. "You won't be alone at all." She reached out to squeeze Beatrice's hand and smiled. The simple gesture made Beatrice smile as a tear started to well up in her eye.

His voice was like the crack of a whip, "Angelica."

At the sound of her handler's voice, her eyes widened and she spun around. "Marco!" she exclaimed happily.

"Get over here. I don't want you getting sick, too." She ran to him before he had finished talking. Priscilla just shook her head. "C'mon. Let's go," he said and, with a nod to Priscilla and Bernardo, stalked off. Angelica began to follow. She paused just long enough to look back at the bedridden girl and flash a quick smile, then was gone.

Whatever Bernardo had been talking about, he finished it with, "...which should be soon." He glanced back at his cyborg who stared plaintively at him. "Priscilla, would you mind..."

She nodded, wished Beatrice well and left. Bernardo walked over to the bed, grabbed a nearby chair and sat. The two were alone for the time being.

"How're you feeling?" he asked, voice and face full of concern.

"Fine, now that you're here," she said, managing a weak smile. Despite the words, Bernardo could hear the wheezing every time she breathed.

"Look, Bicé, the doctors are going to need to operate on you to make you better. After that you should be back to normal and we can get you back to work."

She pondered that for a bit, staring at the ceiling. She looked back at her handler when she spoke, "Will you be there?"

"Well... you won't be awake for it..."

"But you'll be there?"

"Of course." He saw no harm in the lie.

"Good," she said. The smile that spread over her worried features was like the sun breaking through storm clouds. There was a brief silence between them. Bernardo couldn't think of anything useful to say. His presence was more important than his words, anyway.

Beatrice spoke first. Despite the fact that her face was flushed he was sure he saw her blush. "Mr. Bernardo. When I'm better again, could we..." her voice trailed off. Bernardo almost could have laughed, seeing the serious cyborg so embarrassed.

"What is it, Bicé?" he asked, encouragingly.

"Well... I..." She looked away, flustered. "There are so many things I want to do and I didn't really start thinking about them until just a few days ago..."

Not knowing what to say to put her at ease, Bernardo reached out and put his big hand on her small one. The contact startled her. She looked at him and smiled. Reassured she opened her mouth to speak — and turned her head just in time to avoid coughing all over him.

The fit passed but she paused for a minute, trying to catch her breath. Rasping sounds came from her as her little chest heaved, trying to draw in breath. When she turned to him, fresh tears streaked her cheeks, but whether they were the result of her coughing or some intense emotion he could not be sure. "I really like animals. I think they're so neat! And I just wanted to..."

Another cough racked her small frame. He put a hand on her back to try and steady her as she drew breath in ragged gasps. "Bicé, maybe you should just lie down and rest. Whatever it is, we can talk about it later." She laid back, looking up at him, an unasked question on her lips.

The soft voice of one of the staff nurses interrupted them, "Bernardo, it's almost time. We need to prep her for surgery."

"Alright," he said, over his shoulder, standing as he did so.

As he stood, Beatrice sat upright and grabbed his hand. Her voice was a hoarse whisper, "Could we go to the zoo, Mr. Bernardo? Please? When I'm better? I always wanted to..."

"That's fine, Bicé, I would love to take you," he said reassuringly. Though she was just as sick after his answer, his words calmed her and brought a weak smile to her face.

He stood aside as the nurse and a technician adjusted the bed and wheeled his sick little girl out of the room.

Alone in the room, Bernardo sighed. "The zoo?"

**------------------------------------------------**

Weary, both physically and emotionally, from the day's exertions, Bernardo retired to one of the guest rooms at the compound. The place was big enough to house more than twice the girls it had, plus all their handlers and some support staff. Finding a place to crash was no problem at all.

Such was his exhaustion that sleep came easily, shortly after his head hit the pillow. With sleep came dreams.

In his dream, Beatrice was alive and well. As promised, he was taking her to the zoo. It wasn't any particular zoo, just some sort of idealized 'zoo' with a fascinating variety of animals. Dreams quite often made just enough sense in some ways while making very little in others.

They went here and there, admiring all sorts of animals in the park. Beatrice was stoic and quiet, but Bernardo was having a grand time, enjoying both the zoo and the chance to shamelessly dote on the little girl.

They stopped to look at the African lions lounging around in their enclosure. Nearby were bengal tigers who were playfully engaged in all sorts of feline activities. From there they visited the polar bears and watched them swim around.

Bernardo must've gotten a bit close, however, as one of the bears lumbered toward the fence and tried to paw at him. He stepped back, alarmed at the bear's ferocity, when Beatrice interposed herself and dropped the thing with a shot clean through its left eye.

Bernardo started to chastise the girl, both for using her weapon in public and firing at the bear which hadn't been much of a threat behind its fnece. Passersby took no note, however. Beatrice was strangely silent.

As he stood with a final admonishment, Bernardo heard someone call out his name. He turned around and waved at Priscilla who was running towards him, smiling.

"Oh, hey, Priscilla, I was ju—"

Without a word, Beatrice moved between them, gun in hand. It bucked once. Priscilla dropped, a bloody wound where her eye had been.

"Beatrice! What the—" Bernardo couldn't even finish the sentence, such was his shock.

By now the other zoo-goers were staring at them and pointing, both at them and at Priscilla's unsightly corpse. In a deadly whirl and hail of gunfire, Beatrice shot them all. When she stopped, he was alone with her amongst a macabre scene of dead pedestrians.

Bernardo looked around in shock, at a loss for words. Holstering her gun, the cyborg moved to stand in front of him, making no sound. She stared straight ahead, not even seeing him. He knelt in front of her, to look at her face, but her gaze went right through him.

"Bicé, what did you..." he began, not comprehending what had happened. He reached up to run a hand through her hair. José used to ruffle Henrietta's hair all the time. Beatrice stood stock still, not even acknowledging the touch. He looked at his hand, puzzled. Some of her brown locks had come out and were still in his hand. He peered at her, greatly discomfited by everything that had happened. Some of her hair had indeed come out, but there was something underneath...

**------------------------------------------------**

Bernardo awoke with a start. Whatever dream he had been having had left him feeling uncomfortable, but it fled before his conscious mind. He yawned and sat up. The sore stiffness of his overtaxed muscles forced a groan from him. He got up and stretched, stiff muscles causing more noises of discomfort.

He had slept later than he had expected or wanted. There was a spare change of clothes for him here, which he grabbed before making his way to begin his morning routine of wakefulness. It was overcast and wet outside, and the weather matched the unease which colored his mood.

Beatrice should be done with her surgery by now and he would be able to find out if she had survived. Ideally it should have been pretty routine for a crew who regularly converts little girls to cyborgs, but he couldn't shake the ominous sense of gloom with which his recent dream had left him. It had been the dream, right?

The hot water did wonders for his sore muscles. Maybe he would take a long soak in a nice, hot bath once he'd gotten home tonight. As he toweled himself after his shower, he reflected again on the discussion he would have with Dr. Gilliani. '_I'm sorry, we did all we could,_' he could imagine the good doctor saying. Or, '_Something unexpected came up; there was nothing to be done._'

Not that he wanted or even expected something like that to happen, but it would be much better to prepare himself for the worst and be pleasantly disappointed than to expect her to be well and be let down. What was it José had said? _Try not to get attached. And be prepared to lose her._

The meeting with Dr. Gilliani and Jean went much more smoothly than he could have guessed. Gilliani had been happy to report that everything had worked out perfectly. Beatrice was resting comfortably while the techs ran more diagnostic tests on everything to ensure optimum functionality. She really was fine. He had to assure Bernardo several times, almost to the point where Jean started to grow irritated. Bernardo just couldn't believe it. All his worrying had been for naught, it seemed.

She would be up and about tomorrow and ready to get back to training the day after. Jean offered the usual gruff warnings about being careful, reporting anything unusual about his cyborg to the doctors and the bit about how training Beatrice was his responsibility, every bit as much as making sure she was properly maintained.

Bernardo apologized, but his mind was elsewhere. Things really would turn out for the best, it seemed and the worst he would endure would be some good-natured jokes about keeping his girl healthy and making sure she saw the doctors enough. All in all it was a fair trade. Hell, it was better than a fair trade.

**------------------------------------------------**

The following day was bright and sunny; all traces of yesterday's storm clouds had been obliterated. He was a little late to the agency, pulling into an empty spot. He made his way to the dorm where he expected to find Beatrice, a smile on his face, a spring in his step and a pamphlet in his hand. Dr. Gilliani had warned against doing anything too terribly strenuous today so he would take his ward on a sightseeing trip.

She must've heard his car pull up since she was standing near the entrance to the dorm, waiting patiently. He called out cheerfully when he saw her, "Hey, Bicé, how're you feeling."

"Fine, sir," was the reply. She seemed a little different. Often the girls were a bit spaced out after major surgeries. One of the techs had mentioned that Triela had had a leg replaced recently and she had woken afterwards after having a dream about her mother. She had been emotional and somewhat disoriented for about a day after that.

He smiled and looked at his pamphlet. It advertised the wonders of one of the zoos in Rome. Bernardo knew a way to make her smile. "Anywhere you feel like going today?"

The eyes that looked at him were as utterly devoid of emotion as her voice, "I'll go where you want me to go, Bernardo." The color drained out of his face as he realized the last time he'd heard her say those words. A week ago when she had practically been a different person.

"Bicé, what's... what's wrong?"

"Nothing, sir. I am well," she replied, mechanically. Her eyes seemed to stare right through him. All at once, the dream came back to him. The Beatrice in his dream had looked at him with the same hollow stare. Her hair had fallen out when he'd run his hand through it... and underneath was something gray, metallic. His eyes widened and his breath came in shallow gasps as the memory crept back to him.

Unable to stop himself, the dream-Bernardo had tried to see the truth behind his Beatrice. Her hair had come off and the skin of her face had peeled away like latex paint. When he was done, the cold, inhuman gaze of the machine had looked back at him through green eyes. Those same green eyes and that same inhuman gaze that beheld him now.

Reflexively, his grip tightened around the pamphlet in his hand. He forced his eyes closed as he tried to steady his breathing and relax his muscles. All but unnoticed, the crumpled pamphlet slipped from his grasp to fall to the ground.

The mistake he'd made had been twofold. He had gotten too attached to Beatrice. And he had thought himself well prepared for her loss. What he hadn't expected was to see his little girl replaced by this soulless construction of carbon fiber and artificial muscle.

He sighed — as he must've sighed a hundred times before — and opened his eyes. The sun shined and birds chirped. It was a perfectly normal day. Noticing the discarded paper, Beatrice bent, picked it up and threw it in the trash. With it went his hopes that Beatrice would ever be a normal, little girl.

**END**


End file.
